


A Crack in the Silence

by starry19



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starry19/pseuds/starry19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She would always remember the overwhelming relief in his eyes, his posture, his words when he'd found her at the scene. His shoulders had actually sagged, and he'd reached for her hand with fingers that were shaking." -post Diamonds Are Forever</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**AN:** This will start off as a tag to Diamonds are Forever, but since we have three weeks to kill, I thought, hey, why not make it a multichapter? 

 

Thank you to everyone who reviewed my first episode tag. It’s always a little scary posting a fic in a new fandom, and I appreciate the support. 

 

**A Crack in the Silence**

**Chapter Once**

 

She had been prepared to spend the evening crying on her couch, wrapped up in a blanket and her own shattering grief. Tonight, she was going to come to terms with Sean’s death, to lay it out in black and white and _feel_ it. 

 

Instead, however, she was sitting on her front step, spilling out her guilt, her pain to Henry, her head on his shoulder. He had shown up unexpectedly, wondering if she might want company. She hadn’t, not originally, not when she had first heard the door. 

 

But then she’d seen him standing there, bundled against the cold, dark eyes warm and affectionate, and suddenly, she was immensely grateful for his presence. 

 

They sat outside for perhaps an hour, drinking coffee that was liberally laced with whiskey, watching the snow and sharing an occasional sentence. He kept his arm around her, and once, had even succeeded in making her laugh. 

 

“How’s your head?” he asked, leaning back far enough to see her face. 

 

She shrugged. “It hurts,” she admitted. “But I passed the concussion test, so there’s nothing to worry about.” 

 

“I have to admit,” he confessed, “that tonight was one of my scarier moments in recent memory.”  

 

She cocked an eyebrow. “Were you scared before or _after_ you told me to drive into an emergency barrier?” 

 

He smiled, just a little. “Both. And during, if you must know. I had science on my side, and I knew rationally you would be all right, but I find I very much dislike taking risks with your life.” 

 

Gently, she nudged him. “Hey, according to you, it wasn’t really a risk.” 

 

His smile turned wry. “True enough. Somehow, however, that was of little comfort, especially when the call got disconnected.” 

 

She understood. Waiting for the world to right itself, for the paramedics to arrive, she could have used his voice in her ear. She’d held onto that as she’d driven, blindly trusting him to save her. _I’m right here with you._ It had been what she’d needed to hear. 

 

She would always remember the overwhelming relief in his eyes, his posture, his words when he’d found her at the scene. His shoulders had actually sagged, and he’d reached for her hand with fingers that were shaking. 

 

“You know,” she began, “as...not fun as a head-on collision was, it was definitely preferable to being executed by a dirty cop.” 

 

Henry blinked rapidly. “I _did_ mention that I found tonight particularly horrifying, yes? I think we all realized Dunn was involved about ten minutes before you did, which was about twenty minutes too late.” A muscle twitched in his cheek. 

 

Gently, she rested her head against his shoulder again, and his arm fell to her waist. “It worked out,” she said consolingly. “I’m not complaining. I’m just glad this damn case is over.” 

 

He nodded. “Me, too. For your sake.” 

 

With a sigh, she closed her eyes. She was exhausted, emotionally wrung out, the constant ebb and flow of adrenaline and pain having drained almost all of her reserves. “Thank you for being here,” she murmured. 

 

She felt him rest his cheek against the top of her head. “Of course. I’ll be here for as long as you need me, in whatever capacity you need me.” 

 

Shoulder to cry on, drinking buddy, partner, protector. He was already all of those things to her. 

 

Vaguely, she wondered what she was to _him_ , but pushed those thoughts aside. The answer was obviously _something_ , or he wouldn’t be here tonight. 

 

It wasn’t the time to dwell on it, so she tried to change the subject. “Did Abe ever find out who stole that horse thing?”

 

He chuckled, and she felt it. “Bit of a false alarm,” he told her. “It never left the shop, actually. We’re just lucky Abe didn’t feel the need to try and make a citizen’s arrest. That could have gotten very ugly, very quickly.” 

 

“I would have paid to see that.” She laughed affectionately. 

 

“Me, too,” he said. “Paid for an attorney, that is, in the hopes of keeping him out of jail.” 

 

“Nah,” she argued. “Abe’s charming enough to worm his way out of about any situation.” 

 

“When he wants to be,” Henry conceded. “That particular quality has saved him more than once.” He sounded like he was remembering something, and she was about to ask, but then she felt his lips softly touch her hair. 

 

For a second, her heart ached, and it wasn’t because of pain. 

 

The snow was picking up, as was the wind, and even the whiskey and Henry’s body heat weren’t enough to block the cold out. 

 

“Brr,” he commented. 

 

“Yeah,” she agreed, reluctantly disentangling herself from him and standing. He followed. “I think I’m going to head for bed.” 

 

He was watching her carefully, and she wondered what he was seeing. “Good night,” he said quietly. Then, even softer, “Call if you anything.” 

 

She smiled. “I will.” 

 

“I mean it,” he insisted. 

 

Her heart hurt again. “I know you do,” she whispered. Impulsively, she stretched up and kissed his cheek. His hands caught both of her elbows, making sure she was steady. 

 

With a final smile, he turned, heading for the street and hailing a passing taxi. 

 

She hurried inside, locking the door firmly behind her. The cold had started to seep inside her bones. 

 

A hot shower had never seemed more appealing. On her way to the master bathroom, she stopped to take Sean’s deposition tape out of the player. Firmly, she put it back in its case then back in the box. There would be no more self-indulgence. Sean was dead, and replaying his words wouldn’t change that. All it would do was hurt her more. 

 

Still, a few tears escaped as she stood under the shower spray, steam billowing around her. The water stung the wound on her head, the tiles cold at her back. 

 

For several minutes, she did no more than breathe. 

 

It was difficult enough. 

 

Later, curled beneath her down comforter, clad in fleece pajama pants, she decided she finally felt human again. 

 

She felt the touch of a phantom embrace, and for the first time, it wasn’t from Sean’s arms. 

 

With a deep sigh, she decided one more indulgence would be all right. Closing her eyes, she held onto the feeling of Henry being close to her. If she tried hard enough, she could smell his cologne, hear his voice. 

 

Whatever their relationship actually was, they had taken a decisive step tonight. 

 

And, even if it felt wrong to admit it, it was so nice to dream of the living and not the dead.

 

The next day, she finished up her paperwork quickly, anxious to close this case literally, figuratively, metaphorically, and any other way she could think of. 

 

Despite doctor’s orders, Hanson was at work, too. He made a crack about his kids driving him crazy, but she knew part of the reason he was here was because he knew she’d be around, and he wanted to make sure she didn’t do anything stupid. 

 

Around eleven, Henry called. She could tell he was in his office. “You know,” he said as soon as she picked up, “a day off would have done you good.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah.” She rolled her eyes even if he couldn’t see her. “What’s going on?” Henry was not the sort to call simply to chat. 

 

“I was wondering if I could drag you away from your desk for lunch.” There was a smile in his voice. “Lucas has a date tonight with someone he met online, and if I have to hear any more about it, I’m going to be forced to shut him in cold storage.” 

 

She smiled. “Well, if it’s to save Lucas’s life, I suppose I could be persuaded.” 

 

“Excellent. I’ll wander over your way in an hour or so.” 

 

She was still smiling when she hung up. It was...nice, having something to look forward to. 

 

There were a few back-logged reports she needed to get to, and in a good mood, she worked quickly. 

 

Engrossed in trying to remember a particular timeline for her last case, she didn’t realize Henry was standing in front of her desk until he cleared his throat.

 

She jumped. 

 

He made an effort to look contrite, but she could tell he was amused. 

 

“Ready?” he asked, eyebrows raised. 

 

The small restaurant was just a few blocks away from the 11th, and she smiled as she took in the vintage decor. It looked like a place where you ordered milkshakes with your boyfriend after going to a drive in movie, right down to the red vinyl booths. 

 

In all honesty, it didn’t seem like Henry’s sort of restaurant, but when he told her this was one of Abe’s favorite spots, she let it go. 

 

Like always, Henry was alarmingly handsome, his tailored suit emphasizing all the right spots. He looked perfectly composed, perfectly in control. It was hard to remember that this man had sat on her front steps with her last night in the middle of a snowstorm, drinking whiskey out of coffee cups and letting her cry on his shoulder.

 

She was abruptly grateful that she was able to see a side of Henry Morgan that he usually kept from the world. 

 

“So Lucas has a date, huh?” she asked. 

 

Henry sighed, sounding deeply exasperated. “The worst part is, regardless of how it goes, I’m going to hear about every individual second of it tomorrow.” 

 

She chuckled. “I’m assuming this has happened before?” 

 

“ _Yes_ ,” he replied. “All things considered, I suppose I have to hope it goes well. If not, Lucas feels the compulsion to go over every word he uttered during the date and second-guess himself.” 

 

She laughed again, then went back to her menu. 

 

The bell above the front door rang and she gave a cursory glance up. When she looked back down, Henry was watching her. It always made her a little nervous, being the focus of his gaze. He saw everything. In a moment of panic, she wondered if he could possibly know that she had drifted off last night imagining his arms around her. 

 

And then the shouting began. 

 

She turned, hand instinctively going to her hip. 

 

At the front counter, a man was yelling at the young waitress serving coffee. She recognized him as being the man she’d just seen walk in. 

 

“What’s his name, huh?” he was demanding, words loud, harsh. 

 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. The waitress was either the girlfriend or the ex-girlfriend, and the man doing the shouting was the boyfriend, clearly under the impression that there was someone else. 

 

“What’s his name?” he screamed again. “I’ll blow his damn head off!” 

 

She glanced quickly at Henry before standing. He looked concerned, and she hoped he stayed put. Instead, he followed her. 

 

“Hi,” she said casually, slowly walking towards the front of the diner. “What’s the problem?”

 

When the man turned and faced her, she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. She’d seen that look before in someone’s eyes - crazy, unhinged. 

 

“The problem?” he echoed. “The problem is that this cheating bitch thinks she can get away with it!” His hand shook as he pointed at the waitress, who was standing stock-still, looking horrified.

 

“This is hardly going to solve the problem,” Henry piped up from a foot behind her, and she wished he would just _shut up_. 

 

“What’s your name?” she asked calmly, ignoring Henry, taking another step forward. 

 

“None of your damn business,” he answered. He turned sharply back to the waitress, hand going to the waistband of his jeans. In the next second, she saw the gun in one shaking hand. 

 

She drew her own weapon immediately, taking one step to the right to block Henry totally. “All right,” she said, fully in authority mode. “NYPD. Drop it.” 

 

He turned back, sneered at her weapon. “Or what?” 

 

“You know, this is a very stupid way to die,” Henry said. The idiot stood at her side again, and she felt a thrill of terror. “What will this prove?” 

 

There was a tense silence. The waitress behind them let out one small, choked sob. Looking back, Jo would always remember it as the catalyst. 

 

The next three seconds happened in slow motion. 

 

The man turned, fired blindly at the girl behind the counter. He missed, then turned back to them.She fired, hit her target. The man got off one last shot, and she lunged for Henry. She felt like she was moving underwater, like her limbs weren’t cooperating. 

 

She felt the bullet rip into her shoulder a heartbeat before she crashed into Henry. When she could think about anything other than _how goddamn much she hurt_ , she realized she was propped half-up in Henry’s arms, both of them on the floor. 

 

She could hear his frantic voice in her ear, not at all sure like it had been last night. “You’re an idiot,” he kept saying, alternating it with, “it’s all right, you’ll be all right.” 

 

Things kept alternating between being fuzzy and the picture being too sharp. Henry was warm and solid at her back. Distantly, she heard sirens. 

 

“It’s not that bad,” he said quietly. “Really.” Carefully, he shifted her, and she gritted her teeth against the pain. With efficient movements, he pressed a folded towel, commandeered from the kitchen staff, against her shoulder, staunching the flow of blood. 

 

Finally, she focused on his face. He looked...angry, she decided. And scared.

 

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded. 

 

She blinked, slowly. “Maybe thinking that I didn’t want you to be shot,” she whispered. Every word hurt. Dimly, she realized she was annoyed with him. Hello? She had just taken a bullet for him. 

 

His arms tightened almost painfully around her. “You’re an idiot,” he said again. 

 

The bell over the door jangled again, and she decided it was very annoying. She heard the clatter of wheels, and knew it was the paramedics. 

 

Henry kissed the top of her head. “You’ll be fine,” he whispered. “Trust me.”

 

“I do,” she breathed back. 

 

As she was loaded into the ambulance, Henry walked at her side, one hand on the edge of the gurney. He was silent, but she was still grateful for his presence.

 

Hanson showed up, and she was touched by the worry in his eyes. Or she would have been, had the morphine not been coursing through her veins. 

 

“You’re not allowed out of the precinct ever again,” he told her shortly. “I swear to God, I’m chaining you to your desk.”

 

She offered him a small smile. Then the doors were closing, and the last thing she saw was Henry’s face, looking almost unbearably upset. 

 

She closed her eyes, but the image stayed with her for long after. 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Hello again! This took me a but longer to get up than I’d anticipated, but here it is! Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter one! Your support is very much appreciated!

 

Also, I might possibly hate the way this turned out. Just FYI. 

 

**A Crack in the Silence**

**Chapter Two**

 

He had to tell her. 

 

It had become glaringly apparent that it was time. 

 

In no way did it make him _want_ to do so. 

 

But. 

 

What if it happened again? Considering the turns his life had taken since Jo entered it, it was entirely possible they would find themselves in another situation where she was compelled to take a bullet for him. 

 

The next time, she might not be so lucky. 

 

And he would never be able to live with himself if he could have prevented her from taking such a pointless risk, regardless of what her reaction would be. 

 

He had to admit that he was touched, very touched, by her willingness to save him. He was a veteran of several wars - it had happened before in combat situations, much to his dismay. But none of those situations involved a woman he cared about. Abigail would have, he was quite sure, but she had known early on that there was no need. 

 

Jo had _not_ known. Jo _still_ didn’t know.

 

He’d sent her flowers in the hospital, visited her every day and brought real food. He’d seen what passed for a meal there, and it was a wonder anyone survived their stay. 

 

Relatively speaking, her wound was minor, or as minor as gun shots could ever be. She’d been hit with a small caliber pistol, entering just below the top of her shoulder. In just a few days, she had been discharged and sent home. She was sore, but well aware it could have been grievously worse. 

 

All of these facts didn’t stop him from waking up in a cold sweat, remembering how her blood had looked on his hands, the terror he’d felt when he’d realized what she’d done. 

 

Yes. He needed to tell her. 

 

And so, hesitantly and very tentatively, he began to create a plan, an outline. She would need proof. Even if she said she didn’t need it, if she believed him, he was going to insist on it. Nora was still on his mind, even if it had been two hundred years ago. He didn’t want there to be any ambiguity where Jo was concerned. 

 

Abe was quite supportive of his decision. 

 

“She’ll believe you,” he said, taking inventory of a small collection of silver he’d just acquired. “It’s going to be fine.” 

 

He rolled his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re sure of that.”

 

“Look,” Abe said, “this is Jo we’re talking about. She trusts you.” 

 

Indeed, she did. He knew that. He was just afraid of shattering that trust by telling her something that was quite ludicrous, at least to the average rational person. 

 

“I intend to prove it,” he told his son. 

 

Slowly, Abe nodded. “Well, I’ll make sure to be around then. Someone has to come pick up your naked ass before you get arrested.” 

 

“Thank you,” he said, with half a smile. Then, with fingers that shook just a little, he picked up the phone and invited Jo for dinner that night. 

 

He then spent the next six hours changing his mind approximately forty-seven times.

By the time she arrived, he was a bit of a mess. 

 

She noticed, of course, but still smiled at him from across the table as Abe served them chicken cordon blu. He was sure it was delicious, but it all tasted like sawdust to him, and he nervously drank his wine. 

 

As soon as she was done, he pushed back his chair and stood. “We need to talk,” he said. 

 

Her eyes widened, but she carefully put her glass on the table. “Okay,” she almost whispered. 

 

Clearly confused, she followed him to the living room, sitting on the couch. He dropped into the chair across from her, Abe taking his place at the opposite end of the sofa. 

 

“I’m just here for moral support,” he remarked when Jo looked at him. “For both of you.” 

 

He managed a tight smile when Jo turned her gaze on him. 

 

“What’s going on, Henry?” she asked, and he could hear the worry start to creep into her voice. 

 

He took several deep breaths in a row. “Do you trust me?” he finally asked, very softly. 

 

“Yes,” she said, without hesitation. “With my life, obviously. I think I’ve proved that.” 

 

She had. 

 

“Please remember that. What I’m going to tell you is going to sound insane, I know, but I’m prepared to offer you any sort of proof you require. In fact, I’m going to insist on proving it.” 

 

She stared. “O...kay,” she whispered. 

 

He ran a hand through his hair, a very uncharacteristic gesture. Nervously, he wet his lips. “There was no reason for you to take that bullet for me,” he told her. 

 

She visibly relaxed. “Is that what all this is about?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Henry, look, I’m a cop, you’re not. It’s my job to protect you. Besides, I’m fine, or I _will_ be.” 

 

“Something you had no way of knowing when you stepped in front of me,” he pointed out. 

 

“That’s true,” she acquiesced, “but that wouldn’t have mattered. I would have done it anyway.” 

 

“ _I know_ ,” he said, tone a little harsher than he’d intended. “That’s my point. You didn’t _need_ to.” 

 

“Henry,” she said, eyes wide. “You could have died.” She sounded like she was explaining something to a stubborn toddler. 

 

“Possibly,” he admitted, then sucked in a bracing breath. _Here we go..._ “But the thing is, I wouldn’t have stayed dead for very long.” 

 

She blinked. “What?” 

 

Nervously, he glanced at Abe, who looked steadily back. 

 

“I wouldn’t have stayed dead,” he repeated. “I never do.” 

 

“Henry, what the hell are you talking about?” Jo demanded, now starting to look properly alarmed.  

 

“Please remember that I am going to prove this to you,” he said. “Jo...” he hesitated. “I can’t die. I always come back, always.” 

 

Her eyes narrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.” 

 

“I’m cursed,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know how to end it. I’ve tried, believe me, but nothing has any effect.” 

 

Abruptly, he stood. “Come with me,” he said. He didn’t offer his hand, afraid that she might reject him. “I’ll show you. We can have the rest of this conversation after.” 

 

Heart racing, he led the way to his laboratory. He thought it was a mark of Jo’s trust that she followed him, Abe right behind, clearly knowing what he intended. 

 

He’d thought about this, about what way would be quick. But he wanted to avoid violence, not wanting her to live with the image of him blowing his brains out. In the end, he’d decided on a fast-acting poison. 

 

With a bit of a flourish, he uncorked the bottle, then tipped the contents into his mouth. It was bitter, harsh, but he made himself swallow. 

 

“Henry,” Jo said quietly. “What are you doing?” She looked frightened.

 

“It’s all right,” he whispered. Already, he felt sluggish. 

 

“ _Henry_ ,” she repeated. “What was in that bottle?”

 

He managed a smile. It was difficult. “Poison,” he said, voice starting to rasp. 

 

“Oh, my God, oh, my God,” she hissed, reaching for her phone. “I’m calling 911!” 

 

Abe stepped forward and plucked the phone from her grasp. “It’s okay,” he said. “He’ll be fine in about twenty minutes.” 

 

Suddenly, his legs wouldn’t support him, and he stumbled awkwardly to the ground. Jo sprinted to his side, pulled him into her arms. Through darkening eyes, he saw tears on her face. 

 

“What the hell are you doing?!” she screamed at him. “What’s the _matter_ with you?!” 

 

It took every last ounce of strength he possessed, but he reached up and touched her cheek. “Don’t cry,” he murmured. “You’ll see.”

 

Clinically, he knew his breathing was far too shallow, far too labored. 

 

“Henry,” he heard Jo’s anguished voice from far off. “Don’t you dare leave me! Please!” Her words broke. 

 

“I’m not...leaving you,” he managed. His eyes closed. 

 

And then it was over.

 

The water was cold, _very_ cold, and he thought he might freeze to death (again) by the time he reached the shore. Fortunately, there were very few lights to reveal him, and he covertly slunk into some nearby bushes, trying to get his bearings. 

 

He had planned this earlier. Using data from his most recent returns, he’d come to the conclusion that he was coming back within five or six blocks of the same spot each time. Hoping the pattern would hold one more time, he’d hidden a bag in a spot he thought would be safe from robbery, at least for a few hours. 

 

He just had to figure out where he was in relation to it. 

 

Which was damned difficult when one had to creep around whilst naked and frozen. 

 

Eventually, he managed it, sending a silent thank you to the universe for this one thing working out. 

 

There was a pay phone three blocks from where he’d stashed his clothes, and he dialed the number with numb fingers. Abe answered on the first ring. 

 

“I’ll be by that little coffee shop next to the used bookstore on Elm,” he said without preamble. “How’s Jo?”

 

“Uh,” Abe said flatly. “I think the clinical term is _freaking out_. I guess she doesn’t have a lot of experience with dead bodies disappearing in front of her.” 

 

His lips twitched involuntarily. “Could you put her on for a moment?” 

 

There was silence, and then he heard shaky breathing. “Jo?” he said softly.

 

Her voice was choked, stunned. “Henry?” 

 

“I told you it would be all right,” he murmured, tone affectionate. “I’ll explain everything,” he promised. “See you very soon.” 

 

She wasn’t in the car when Abe arrived, and he felt a thrill of panic. 

 

“I left her on the couch with a stiff drink,” Abe explained. “She looked like she needed one.” 

 

“She probably needs the whole bottle,” he remarked, adjusting the heating vents so they pointed directly at him. 

 

Even though this was undoubtedly stranger for her, he still was nervous when they arrived, and he made for the back stairs. “Give me five minutes,” he told Abe quietly. “I smell like the river.” 

 

The hot water burned his half-frozen limbs, but he ignored it, showering quickly. 

 

Jo was sitting motionlessly in the living room when he emerged from the bathroom, and he approached her cautiously. Her empty glass was resting on the coffee table before her. 

 

“Hello,” he said gently, and she looked up with an expression that was part fear, part hope, and part disbelief. 

 

Carefully, carefully, he sat beside her, holding her eyes, willing her to still trust him they way she had just an hour ago. 

 

Abe had disappeared, and he was grateful for the privacy. 

 

Slowly, Jo reached one trembling hand out and poked him in the chest. As she made contact, she let out a deep breath, eyes welling up. 

 

He didn’t stop to think before pulling her into his arms. 

 

She hesitated for a beat, and he felt his heart sink, but then she let out a sigh that sounded like a sob and turned her face into his neck. 

 

He took a ridiculous second to be very grateful indeed that he’d showered before running one hand through her hair. 

 

“I thought,” she whispered, “I thought you were...” 

 

“I know,” he breathed back. 

 

“And then you _disappeared_ , and I didn’t...”

 

“I know,” he said again. 

 

“How is this even possible?” she demanded, words muffled by his shoulder. 

 

He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know.” 

 

Eventually, she sat back, and he turned towards her, resting one arm along the back of the sofa. He wasn’t quite touching her, but this made him feel a little like she was still within the circle of his arm. 

 

Her eyes were red, and he could see her struggling for composure. But she hadn’t run...not yet, anyway. 

 

She swiped at her face. 

 

“Tell me everything,” she said, voice suddenly steady. 

 

So he did. 

 

“It’s a long story...” 

 

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

 

Hours later, when his throat was scratchy and his voice hoarse, he finally finished. 

 

He reached for his often-refilled drink, hoping the cognac would provide him a little relief. God knew he had certainly needed the courage it had proved earlier. 

 

Jo looked exhausted, disheveled. She had listened to his story with confusion, and then sympathy, and finally outrage as he explained about Adam. 

 

But.

 

She was still there. Still close enough for him to touch. 

 

Of course, there was always the possibility she was just too overloaded to process everything at the moment. Perhaps she would run later. 

 

“I bet you’re never going to accept a dinner invitation from me again,” he felt compelled to say, even as he informed himself that it was definitely not a time for humor. 

 

To his great surprise, she chuckled, sound weary to her very bones. “I’m certainly going to think twice,” she said, “but if Abe’s the one cooking, I could probably be convinced.” Then she sighed. “I knew from that first case that there was something you weren’t telling me,” she said, closing her eyes. “I didn’t think it would be anything like this, obviously, but I knew there was something.” 

 

“Very astute of you,” he commended her, taking her glass out of her increasingly limp fingers. “You’re taking this very well,” he added.

 

“Thanks?” 

 

It was his turn to laugh. “Thank _you_ ,” he said. “For believing.”

 

She opened sleepy eyes, giving him a baleful look. “Sort of hard not to, what with you dying in my arms and all of that.” 

 

“Much better than _you_ dying in _mine_ ,” he told her. “Which brings me back to my original point of having this conversation with you. Don’t you dare ever put yourself in the line of fire for my sake again.” 

 

Her brows furrowed. “That’s the reason you told me?”

 

“To keep you safe? Absolutely.” 

 

She looked...touched, he finally decided. He wanted to ask what she was thinking, but didn’t want to push, not tonight. 

 

“Thank you for trusting me,” she whispered. Her lashes fluttered shut again, and she leaned back against the cushions. 

 

He reached for her hand, brought her knuckles to his mouth, reverently kissing them. 

 

It was the most intimate, most affectionate gesture he’d made to a woman since Abigail. And it felt right. 

 

Reluctantly, he stood. A quick glance at the clock in the corner told him it was nearly two in the morning. He snagged the throw blanket from the back of the couch and spread it across Jo’s half-asleep form. She didn’t need to go anyplace else, not tonight. 

 

She was silent, but smiled a little when he brushed a thumb across her cheek. 

 

Fifteen minutes later, he was staring at the ceiling in his room, arms folded behind his head. 

 

He felt...good. He had been hiding the truth for a very long time. There was now one more person who knew him, one more person that he could be honest with. 

 

And, speaking of honesty...

 

He rather thought he had fallen in love with Jo tonight, at least a little. 

 

It would have been impossible not to. 

 

She had been extraordinary, absolutely extraordinary. 

 

And, as stupid as it was for him to feel this way, he had learned a long time ago that there was no way to prevent his heart from, well, wanting what it wanted. 

 

There was a soft knock on his door, so soft he hardly heard it. Before he could stand, it opened, and Jo, looking a bit determined, walked in. 

 

She strode purposely to the bed, then lifted up the corner of the comforter. “Scoot over,” she said. 

 

He didn’t even consider disobeying. 

 

She slipped in beside him, tucking herself in before rolling to her side, not facing him. “It’s been a weird day,” she declared, sounding like she was daring him to contradict her. “Just humor me.” 

 

He gave a low chuckle. She was correct - it had been a _very_ weird day. And, oh, what the hell?

 

He slid closer, wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. She rested her hands on top of his. 

 

He focused on listening to her breathing, growing deeper and steadier as she drifted off. It was peaceful, laying here like this. He could smell her shampoo, feel her warmth. In the morning, he hoped she would tell him what she was thinking. 

 

But for now, tonight, this was enough. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Chapter three, up and running. Hope you enjoy!

 

Also, I love reviews like Henry loves scarves. (hint) 

 

**A Crack in the Silence**

**Chapter Three**

 

She woke up without opening her eyes. Immediately, she was aware of several things. One, she wasn’t in her own bed. Two, she wasn’t alone. Three, there was something she should be remembering, something very important. 

 

She wrenched her lids open. The room she was in didn’t look familiar. It was deeply masculine and very traditional, with lots of dark wood and clean lines. There was a scarf hanging from a hook on the back of the door.

 

_Henry_. 

 

The night before suddenly came into clear remembrance, and she sucked in a deep breath. 

 

He was wrapped around her like a vine, even breathing in her ear. She had actually spent the night in his arms. Well, part of the night. 

 

Then again, given everything else that had happened, being in bed with Henry was hardly the thing she should be focusing on. 

 

Carefully, trying not to wake him, she rolled so she could see his face. He was frowning in response to her movements, but when she stilled, he relaxed again. 

 

Immortal. 

 

It was a funny word, certainly not one she’d had much opportunity to use in the past. But now...

 

With feather-light fingers, she touched the edge of his jaw, the lines that had gathered in the corners of his eyes. It was impossible, thinking of the number of years he had seen come and go. This entire thing was impossible. 

 

Except he had died in her arms. 

 

She had felt a fierce scream building up in her chest, something straight from her soul as she felt his pulse stop. He had _left_ her, on _purpose_ , and she didn’t understand. Couldn’t begin to understand, not with the wave of anguish that was washing over her. 

 

And then he was gone in a haze of shimmering light. 

 

Her lap was still warm from his body. 

 

But _he wasn’t there_. 

 

She had stood, tear-filled eyes desperately searching the room. The only person she saw was Abe, watching her with concern. 

 

“It’s okay,” he told her. “Just...trust him.” 

 

She was shaking violently. “What the _hell_ is going on?” 

 

All of the explanations in the world still wouldn’t bring Henry back...

 

“You’ll see,” Abe promised, taking half a step towards her. 

 

She turned, looking at the last place Henry had been. All that was left was his pocket watch. Her trembling fingers scooped it up, held it close to her heart. Distantly, she realized she was crying. 

 

Abe put an arm around her shoulders. “I know,” he said quietly. “It takes some getting used to.” 

 

She let him lead her up the stairs to the apartment above the shop. 

 

And then the phone rang. 

 

Forty minutes later, she was crying again, but this time, it was in Henry’s arms. 

 

She had always been a very practical sort, never believing in superstition or ghosts or unexplained phenomena. But it was impossible to _not_ believe now. 

 

It was crazy, utterly crazy. 

 

And he’d proved that it was true. 

 

By the end of his story, she’d been a little drunk, and so had Henry. She figured they both deserved it. 

 

He’d tucked her in on the couch, but for inexplicable reasons, she hadn’t stayed. Maybe it was just too much to take in at once. Maybe she had just needed to prove that he was still alive. Or maybe she had just wanted to be close to him. 

 

Regardless, he hadn’t put up any resistance. Instead, he’d simply held her, the warmth of his body lulling her into a deep and dreamless sleep. 

 

She felt like she had a hangover now. An emotional one.

 

It was probably going to get worse before it got better. There was a great deal she now needed to sort through, the implications of some of the things Henry had told her.

 

Firstly, Abe. 

 

He was...Henry’s _son_. And his father would outlive him many times. 

 

It was a painful idea, so she cast her mind around for another topic. She had a lot to choose from.

 

Adam. 

 

She now understood why Henry had been more upset than she’d expected the night he’d killed Clark Walker. He’d thought the man was going to simply disappear. Instead, he’d bled out on the floor. 

 

There was no doubt that Adam would be coming back some day. The only question was when. 

 

She shivered slightly, and not from cold. Regardless, she tucked herself back into Henry’s sleeping form, telling herself that a little more indulgence wouldn’t hurt at this point. 

 

Perhaps it was time to just not think again.

 

She closed her eyes, listening to his heart beat, glad that it was steady. 

 

Fifteen minutes later, he started to stir. She was curious as to how he would react. 

 

She heard his deep intake of breath, felt him stretch, before his arms re-settled around her, pulling her just a shade closer. She swore his lips brushed her hair. 

 

And then her phone rang. 

 

Swearing, she rolled, lunging for the device. She’d carelessly tossed it on the nightstand when she’d impulsively decided to not sleep alone. 

 

It was Hanson. 

 

As she answered, she realized she had no idea what time it was. Hanson was probably calling to wonder why the hell she wasn’t at work.

 

“Hey, Mike,” she said blearily, voice hopelessly scratchy.

 

“Jo,” he answered. “Sorry to wake you up so early-” she breathed a silent sigh of relief - “but we just caught a case.”

 

“Okay,” she said, still feeling rather stupid as she waited for her brain to catch up. “Text me the address.”

 

“Will do,” he replied. “And make sure you call Henry. This is a weird one.”

 

“Yeah,” she responded, trying and failing to sound casual. “Yeah, I’ll see if I can get a hold of him.” As if he didn’t already have a hold on her. Literally. 

 

She ended the call, then turned hesitantly to look at a fully awake Henry for the first time that morning.

 

He was grinning, looking very amused and irritatingly charming. 

 

“Hello,” he said. “I’m fairly certain you’re not going to have many issues getting a hold of me.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled, looking down at her phone as it beeped. Hanson, no doubt, giving her directions to the crime scene.

 

When she glanced back at Henry, she was a little startled. Beneath the surface, she could see no small amount of uncertainty swimming in his eyes. And it hit her - he had no idea how she was going to react. If things would be different between them. If the morning light had changed anything for her. 

 

Abruptly, she realized it had. 

 

Henry had walked this earth for centuries, and now, she was one of three living people who knew the truth about him. One was his son. The other was a sociopath. 

 

What did that make her?

 

Looking into his eyes seemed almost unbearable now. Wildly, she thought that sex would have been less intimate than knowing his secret. 

 

But thinking about sex with Henry was definitely _not_ something she should be doing. And certainly not while she was still _in his bed_. 

 

His posture changed, became stiffer, and when she found the courage to look at him, she discovered he was actually scared. 

 

“Hey,” she said, reaching for his hand.

 

He sighed, gratefully she thought, then squeezed her fingers. “How are you holding up?” he asked, the implication heavy in his words. 

 

She shrugged, tried to sound light. “It’s sort of a lot to take in,” she teased. “But I’ll get there. I’m sure I’ll have about a billion questions, but I’m working through it.”

 

He gave her a warm smile, tinged in relief. “Anything you want to know,” he told her. “Just ask.” 

 

Slowly, she nodded. “Okay.”

 

There was a thoughtful pause before she spoke again. “Well,” she eventually said. “We have a dead body waiting for us.” Reluctantly, she crawled out of bed. “Meet you there?” 

 

He nodded, watching her. “I’ll be just a few minutes behind you.”

 

As she drove, she realized that she wasn’t reacting like a normal person. Then again, perhaps she could cut herself some slack. It had been a rough few weeks. First the mess with Sean’s former client, then she had been shot, and now this. 

 

Of course, it stood to reason that if she had never been shot, Henry wouldn’t have ever told her his secret. 

 

He had done it to protect her.

 

And the implications behind that were...alarming? Touching? Making her hopeful?

 

She resisted the urge to put her head on the steering wheel. 

 

Life had been complicated enough, just a few months ago. It had now gotten exponentially more complex. 

 

Her partner was some sort of immortal. 

 

Who was being stalked by another immortal.

 

He was perpetually thirty five.

 

He had a son in his seventies. 

 

And he apparently cared enough about _her_ to risk telling her all of this. 

 

She spared a moment to remember what Henry had told her about Nora, his first love, and how bitterly her betrayal still felt. That was why he had chosen to prove his story in such a dramatic fashion, she was sure. 

 

But would she have believed him without proof? 

 

Henry was right - she had known something was a little off, a little mysterious about him. She wasn’t sure what sort of an explanation she would eventually get. 

 

Nothing like the long and arduous tale he’d given her. 

 

_Would_ she have been like Nora? Committing him? Thinking all the while it was for his own good?

 

It wasn’t something she wanted to believe herself capable of, but nonetheless, she was disturbed by the path her thoughts had taken. 

 

He still wasn’t over what had happened. That much was obvious.

 

Though she really didn’t know _how_ to proceed from here, she silently vowed to do that opposite of whatever that woman had done. She would prove to him that she believed (because she _did_ ), prove to him that she trusted him, that he still meant the same to her.

 

Well, that might not be precisely true.

 

He meant _more_ now.

 

And maybe she should prove that to him, too.

 

With some surprise, she discovered she was at the scene. In fact, she had been for some time, her car in park, hands wrapped around the wheel, eyes staring sightlessly into the distance. 

 

Shaking her head determinedly, she opened the door, the cold morning air clearing her thoughts. It was time to be a professional again.

 

Her shoulder gave a twinge as she lifted the yellow police line tape. It was nearly healed, but if she moved wrong, it wasn’t shy about making its presence known. 

 

True to his word, Henry arrived a few minutes later, looking perfectly composed. 

 

“Good morning,” he said jauntily, smiling at all of them on his way to the body. 

 

Hanson wasn’t kidding - it was a weird scene, involving a bizarre amount of glitter and, for whatever reason, a tuning fork. 

 

Henry was deeply in his element here, and she watched in mild fascination as he deduced his way through a murder. Of course, now she knew the reason why he was so good at this - he’d been doing it for a few centuries. 

 

Once, she found herself alone with him, Hanson having gone to confer with the canvassing officers. 

 

“Did you stop for breakfast?” he asked, the scarf that had been on the back of his door now around his neck. That knowledge gave her an odd feeling.

 

“Nope,” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

 

He rolled his eyes. “You should have. You’ve gone through a bit of an emotional roller coaster in the past eighteen hours. Food will make you feel better.” 

 

He was at least correct about the roller coaster analogy. Up and down and then she’d wanted to scream and throw up. 

 

She wasn’t sure where she was on the imaginary track at the moment. 

 

“Eat,” he repeated. “You didn’t sleep very much either, and if you try to exist just on coffee, you’re going to make yourself sick.” He turned her coat collar up against the weather. 

 

Another protective gesture. 

 

She felt herself soften. “Fine,” she conceded. “I’ll swing by McDonald’s on my way to the precinct.” 

 

He smiled again. It could have been her imagination, but she thought there was something deeper in it now. 

 

Belatedly, something occurred to her. “You never swore me to secrecy,” she said, a little surprised.

 

Henry’s eyes widened. “Did I need to?” 

 

Immediately, she shook her head. “Of course not.”

 

His smile was back. “I didn’t think so. I trust you,” he added, turning as Hanson started towards them. “I would have thought that was obvious at this point.” 

 

Hours later, sitting in her desk in the precinct, she realized she was absolutely exhausted. Since she’d done what Henry asked and eaten, she felt free to indulge in as much coffee as she wanted. It wasn’t helping. 

 

It was at that precise moment that Henry strolled in, looking triumphant. 

 

“I know who the killer is,” he said without preamble. 

 

She had a signed confession by 5:30 that night. It was unusual, but sometimes cases just were closed quickly and without fuss. 

 

She had a crazy idea that the universe was being kind to her, making up for all the grief it had caused her lately. _And_ it was Friday. _And_ she wasn’t on call this weekend. 

 

Henry walked her to her car, looking like he wanted to say a great day but was refraining. She was tired enough to not push tonight. 

 

Tomorrow, she would deal with it. 

 

“Goodnight,” she said, one hand on the door handle. “I need to get some sleep before I try to wrap my mind around anything else.” 

 

He smiled a little. “Goodnight,” he replied, bending slightly to kiss her cheek. She was becoming alarmingly used to being kissed by him in some fashion. “Pleasant dreams.”

 

She fell in bed without bothering to undress. She spared just a moment to remember what sleeping next to Henry felt like, and then closed her eyes for the next twelve hours. 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** This is the part where I apologize for the obscene delay in finishing this up. I can quite honestly say this is the longest I’ve gone in between chapters - ever. I think I sort of lost my thread and/or inspiration while writing. Anyway - this is the end of this little story. It’s short, I know, but it just came to a natural stopping place. Thanks for sticking with me!

 

**A Crack in the Silence**

**Chapter Four**

 

He invited her out for dinner the next night. He made a point of including the word _date_. 

 

For a moment or two, he had been afraid she would tell him no, that she’d had time to think over the frightening implications of his condition and wanted nothing further to do with him.

 

Instead, she’d said yes with a smile in her voice, and he’d hung up the phone with an answering grin playing around his lips. 

 

It was dangerous, the road he was about to travel, but he was starting to think it was inevitable. More so than anyone, he knew how fickle life could be. People were alive in one moment and gone in the next. 

 

And, perhaps, he was simply getting tired of being alone. 

 

He dressed with more care than normal, paying close attention to the knot of his tie, the fall of his jacket. His cheeks were ruddier than normal as he splashed on cologne. 

 

Abe poked his head in to wish him well before heading out the door. After the case a month ago, his Vietnam buddies had been keeping in much closer contact, and had started a weekly poker game. Personally, he was glad for his son. Friendships were too precious to not be cultivated and maintained. 

 

Of course, these nights usually ended in the early hours of the next day. In fact, Abe had failed to come home once before, and, when he’d finally appeared, had been hung over in a manner that Henry hadn’t seen in fifteen years. 

 

The memory made him shake his head.  

 

A quick check of the clock on the dresser told him he needed to be on his way or he’d be late. _Not_ the impression he was going for. 

 

She answered the door precisely five seconds after he knocked, which told him she’d been waiting and was now trying to pretend she hadn’t been. 

 

“You look lovely,” he told her, eyes sweeping her frame up and down. And she did. Her hair was up, a few dark tendrils escaping already, and she was clad in an actual dress, not something he had ever seen before. 

 

Her smile was soft. “Thank you,” she replied. “You don’t clean up so bad yourself.” 

 

“For you,” he added, almost as an afterthought, distracted by how she looked, handing her the long-stemmed rose he’d picked up three blocks from her house. It was old fashioned and a bit cliche, but he couldn’t help himself. 

 

“Thank you,” she said again, sounding a little less shy than before. “It’s beautiful.” 

 

He stood a little awkwardly in the foyer as she scurried to the kitchen to put her flower in water. This really was starting to feel like a first date. She was back in a minute, extending her hand out to him. “I have something for you, too.”

 

He frowned in confusion as she handed him the object, then smiled, looking down at his palm. His pocket watch glinted up at him, warm from Jo’s hand. 

 

“I picked it up off the floor the other night,” she said in a rush. “You know, when...”

 

“I remember,” he teased. Then, “Thank you,” he said softly. He leaned forward, kissed her cheek,lingering a bit. He could smell her perfume, feel the softness of her skin. With a deftness borne of long habit, he reattached the chain to his waistcoat. It seemed the women he loved were always giving him that watch - or giving it back. “Shall we go?” he asked her. 

 

Her smile was bright, a little excited. “Absolutely.” 

 

She took his arm as they descended her front steps, the same steps they’d sat on not so very long before, Jo spilling her grief onto his shoulder. It was incredible, how fast things changed. 

 

They sat close together in the backseat of the cab, knees brushing, shoulders touching. 

 

He reached for her hand after the second stoplight, and she didn’t hesitate before lacing their fingers together. 

 

The restaurant he took her to was quiet, intimate. It wasn’t typically somewhere to take a first date. Instead, it was a place where lovers met. He had chosen it on purpose for that very atmosphere. 

 

He kept their conversation light through dinner, flirting with her, trying to draw out as many smiles as he could. 

 

After, they strolled aimlessly around the darkened streets, his arm at her waist. 

 

“How long have you been in New York?” she asked once, head leaning on his shoulder. 

 

He thought for a moment. “On and off since the late 1940s,” he replied. “It’s an excellent place for me to be. Always expanding, always new people arriving.”

 

“An easy place for you to hide,” she guessed, and he chuckled. 

 

“That, too. Anonymity is found in the masses, after all.” He kissed the top of her head. 

 

“Henry,” she sighed, pausing. She pulled back a step, looking up at him. “I have to admit that I’m still having some trouble wrapping my mind around all of this.”

 

He felt a small thrill of fear. “Well,” he said, going for nonchalant. “You’ve only had two days.” 

 

“I know,” she said. “I think I’m just asking you to be patient with me.” Her expression was very open, and he could see the affection in her eyes. 

 

“I will be,” he told her softly. “I promise.” 

 

She smiled. “Okay,” she said. 

 

He couldn’t resist. Gently, he framed her face with his hands, then leaned down and kissed her. She was expecting it; he could tell by her instant response. Her arms linked around his neck, mouth opening at his coaxing. 

 

She tasted sweet, like the red wine they’d had with dinner, and he slid his hands into her hair. 

 

It had been a long time since he’d kissed a woman like this, with passion that went deeper than the superficial, with affection that might have been love. 

 

They broke apart when a passing jogger whistled at them, Jo hiding her face against his shoulder, his arms around her waist. 

 

He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and he savored the moment. 

 

There was nothing quite like feeling alive, and feeling in love. 

 

After a minute or two, she looked up at him. She was blushing, which he found adorable. 

 

So he kissed her again. 

 

Several minutes later, they were interrupted by the insistent buzzing of her phone. He fought the urge to tear it out of her hands and throw it into the river and she stepped out of his embrace to take the call. It was work, he was sure.

 

“Well?” he asked, a touch impatiently, watching as she slipped the device back into her coat pocket. 

 

She smiled at his tone. “Well,” she echoed. “Now we go solve another murder.” 

 

He rolled his eyes. “Not precisely part of my plans for the night.” 

 

Jo laughed, then tugged at his hand, pulling him toward the street and haling a cab. “Mine either, but Hanson says this is a high profile case, and all hands have to be on deck, per the boss’s orders.” 

 

He was nonplussed when she gave the taxi driver her home address. 

 

“I can hardly wear this to a crime scene,” she said, gesturing at her dress. “I need to change, and then I’ll drive us out.” 

 

His expression was sullen, a bit petulant. Or it was, until Jo levered herself up so she could whisper in his ear. “This zipper sticks. Maybe you can help me undress.” 

 

On second thought, this night was taking a turn for the better. 

 

“I believe I’m qualified for such an undertaking,” he whispered back. 

 

“We’ll see,” she teased, winking. 

 

Oh yes. They would indeed. 

 


End file.
